


Hear Him Howlin' Around Your Kitchen Door

by nessbess



Series: Werewolves of Chicago [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, mickey is Ian's anchor, spoilers for 4x10, werewolf!Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1362514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessbess/pseuds/nessbess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Resting his hand against Ian's forearm, Mickey forced himself not to flinch at the rumbling growl that tore threateningly through Ian's chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear Him Howlin' Around Your Kitchen Door

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London

Mickey raced into the kitchen, his heart stuttered in his chest as he took in the scene before him. Ian radiated anger from where he stood with Kenyatta pinned to the wall, one hand fisted in the taller man's jacket and the other wrapped around his throat, where sharp claws gleamed in the hazy glow of the kitchen's gloomy fluorescents.

Every instinct within Mickey told him to run, that this was nothing he'd ever seen before; how was he supposed to fight it? But then 'this' was Ian. Sure, he'd been different ever since he'd returned from the army, but he was still Ian. Ian, who had always somehow been both the toughest motherfucker he'd ever known and the gentlest soul. Mickey knew that he had been hurting. Hell, he was _still_ hurting.

He knew that it was his fault.

Every instinct screaming for him to turn tail and get the fuck outta dodge, Mickey took one slow step forwards. Then another. Resting his hand against Ian's forearm, Mickey forced himself not to flinch at the rumbling growl that tore threateningly through Ian's chest.

"Hey, easy, man," he said with a steady voice, not taking his eyes from Ian's twisted face. The younger boy's brow protruded, shrouding his eyes. Along his jaw, a ridge of thick, red hair had sprouted, framing the gleaming set of fangs that were revealed when his lips pulled back in a snarl that should have looked fucking stupid but was just terrifying. Kenyatta whimpered and Ian reflexively tightened his grip, painting his claws with small beads of cherry-bright blood. Mickey swallowed with an audible click and Ian's elongated ear swiveled towards the sound. "Ian," he said gently. "Look at me."

Ian's head snapped around to stare at Mickey with a speed and intensity that almost made him flinch back, but he stood his ground. There was no recognition in Ian's eyes as they pierced Mickey's soul, glowing a bright cobalt. Again, Mickey stamped down on the urge to bolt, determinedly ignoring the way the pounding of his heart filled his ears.

"It's okay," he said in his most placating tone, highly conscious of Kenyatta's panicked whining. Part of him wanted to just let Ian tear his throat out, but it was quickly squashed. The Ian that Mickey knew wouldn't do that. He had to believe that his Ian was still in there. "We're cool," he soothed instead. "Mandy's fine. You're fine, we're all good."

Ian's heavy brow furrowed. He blinked twice, glaring down at Mickey's hand upon his arm. Slowly, the fury upon his face melted away. He met Mickey's eyes again and although they still shone that unnatural blue, Mickey could have wept because that look was one hundred percent _his_ Ian. "Mick?" he said uncertainly.

"Yeah," he huffed, taking Ian's clawed hands in his own and squeezing gently until Ian released Kenyatta. The taller man slumped to the floor, looking as if he would gladly black out where he sat, but Mickey barely spared him a passing glance. "That's right, Firecrotch. Come on, we're leaving." A quick look at Mandy as he guided Ian out of the house showed that she hadn't moved since everyone had started yelling, her eyes wild and a large kitchen knife clenched in her white-knuckled fist. He felt a stab of guilt for leaving her in such clear distress, but she had made her choice. He had to take care of Ian, first.

Ian clung to the Milkovich fence, taking in great, heaving gasps of air as the panic began to set in.

"Hey, take it easy," Mickey said sharply, his tone at odds with the way he gently rested his hands on top of the younger boy's, his thumbs rubbing small circles over Ian's knuckles until the claws retreated back into his nail beds. He waited patiently as Ian took deep breaths, his eerie eyes hungrily drinking in every detail of Mickey's face until the hair disappeared and his brow and ears shrunk to their normal proportions. Ian blinked, and when he reopened his eyes, they were his natural shade of cool grey.

"The fuck, man?" Mickey demanded once he was sure that Ian had found his footing. "You've been weird ever since you came back from the fucking army. One minute you're like Superman, running around making pancakes, taking pictures of the goddamn sunrise and twerking like Kim Kardashian's personal fucking cabana boy and the next you're pulling some hairy-ass Freddy Krueger shit? The fuck did they do to you?"

"It wasn't the army's fault," Ian insisted. He glared at Mickey's disbelieving scoff. "It was just - just this guy I met in Basic. He was lonely and I - and I missed you," he wouldn't meet Mickey's eyes. Mickey wondered what Ian was afraid that he would find there and flinched away from the thought. "He said he knew a way that we could know there was always someone there who would care."

Ian took a deep breath and flipped his hand, threading his fingers through Mickey's. Mickey thought about pulling away for half a second before relaxing into the warmth of Ian's palm. A half smile tugged ruefully at the corner of Ian's lips. "Thought he just wanted to be fuck buddies or something," he said. "Didn't think anything of it when he bit me as we were finishing - that part was nothing new," he huffed a small laugh.

Mickey recalled seeing the silvery bite-scar along Ian's collarbone. He hadn't paid it any mind, assuming that he had put it there himself, but if it had been this army guy...

"Didn't really register until later that his eyes had shone red."

"Red," Mickey echoed, trying not to think about the blue glow in Ian's eyes only moments before. "You mean like he was high or some shit?"

Ian snorted. "No. I mean they were glowing. The colour of fresh blood."

Mickey said nothing, just looked at Ian and wordlessly waited for him to go on.

"He was a werewolf, Mick," Ian finally explained, staring at him with wide, beguiling eyes. "I'm a werewolf."


End file.
